Together With a Crash
by partiallyyours
Summary: Mrs. Hughes receives unwelcome news.
1. Chapter 1

The familiar flickers of candlelight bouncing off the walls seemed jolly, homey, comforting. It was the same nighttime routine as always. Candles being caught up, lit, taken up stairs to guide the way to rooms. The same laughter that showed in its breathy quietness the relief of a day over. The eyes lightheartedly rolled when they were always a candle or two short.

Mrs. Hughes smiled distractedly. She was trying to decide whether to wait up for Mr. Carson or make her own way up the now dark stairs. She had just settled on the way to her pantry when Lord Grantham made a near silent entrance to the servants' kitchen. The time for her surprise was so brief it could not be measured by any clock; it was rapidly replaced by alarm at the Lord's face.

"Mrs. Hughes, I just received a telegram. There's been a train accident."

Dread suffused with a near-hysterical hopefulness warmed her unnaturally. She waited, her eyes shouting the question that her throat could not.

"It was Carson's train."


	2. Chapter 2

**This is my first post to this site and my second fanfic! I'm still figuring out how to work everything! Thanks to those who reviewed.**

Food still needed to be made the next day. Tea needed to be served. It didn't matter that everyone was stretched tighter than a violin string.

No news. A little news. No news again.

Only bits of information trickled in throughout the day. Yes, there had been a train collision. No, it was not a bomb. Yes, it was two trains. Yes, Carson's train was the one most badly damaged. Yes, there had been many deaths. No, there was no official count or names of the dead.

Everyone waited on tenterhooks as close to the door as they could justify. A knock would send everyone into a frenzy. The phone ringing was a siren to wake the dead. Dr. Clarkson, gone since the night with several nurses, was the source of some information. But, ultimately, there was no word of or from Mr. Carson.

Staff moved sluggishly. What could be the point of continuing when someone you cared about, someone so essential to your way of life, was neither dead nor alive? Mrs. Hughes, in particular, was in an agony of despair. Almost apart from herself, she imagined herself moving against the current of a river. Walking, standing, moving was difficult. Speaking, near impossible. Horrible images of his broken body kept climbing, unbidden, to the front of her mind. Worse, she imagined him in need of help, lying somewhere, alone.

Making all of it worse was the feeling, not quite clear enough in her mind to be a thought, that she had no right to be so impaired. This man was her coworker. Her employment just a job. She loved neither the family she served nor anyone under their roof. But at this, she knew she lied to herself. She loved Anna, of course. Bates, too, in her way. Several of her girls held a special place in her heart. Gwen still wrote. It was time she admitted that she did love Mr. Carson as well. For a moment, she was proud; content. Of course she loved him. As a good, loyal, longtime friend would. And just as quickly, she was in despair once more. She would never be able to tell him. Never be able to share with him how proud she was to work by his side. How he made her days lighter. How she counted him among the best of companions. All was lost now.

There was no laughter at bedtime the next night. Laughter seemed so far in the past as to be barely remembered. Mrs. Hughes had hardly slept the night before and couldn't imagine being able to sleep this night. And so she wandered. She went to his pantry. Walked in only a few steps before not being able to bear it and left quickly. She sat in her usual chair at their table, dark now with all who would be sitting there either asleep or dead, she thought glumly. She walked to the servant's entrance, intent on standing in the place where she first saw him. He'd answered the door on her first day, smiling his now familiar half smile. The smile she would never see again. She turned away from the door, leaned her body against the wall, and tried to stave off the tears once again that day.

She heard the servants' door open behind her and automatically put forth a massive effort to hold her tears in for whoever was now standing behind her.

It was him. He was there. Wrinkled, dirty, and exhausted.

Alive.

She considered strongly for a moment that she was asleep or insane, perhaps both. But he was indeed standing before her, smiling that half smile. Her breath was simply gone. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering the sobs that she couldn't recall starting. Embarrassment coursed through her at this emotional display. She tried to control her tears, placing her hands on her hips, shaking her head, trying not to look at him. It was that moment that he came to her, his arms sliding through the convenient space between her arms and sides.

Standing there, watching her cry, he had been stunned. He'd expected no one awake, and pleasant surprise at his arrival in the morning. Nothing could have convinced him that his reception would have been met with this outpouring of emotion. He'd stalled for a moment, questioning the propriety of comforting her. Her tears convinced him. In the few steps it took to get to her, his desperation to hold and be held was making itself felt. He'd crashed into her with more force than he'd intended. This past day had been an eternity for him. He realized he was just as much of a wreck as she was and that, for the moment, sentimentality could be forgiven.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to all who are following and especially reviewing. I hope you're enjoying it. I know I'm having tons of fun. **

"There now," he rumbled into her hair after she had wrapped her arms around as much of his upper body as she could manage. If he'd thought to stem the tide of her tears, he would have been sorely disappointed. At the sound of his voice, her knees buckled, her arms tightened around him, and new, quiet weeping into his chest began.

"I see my telegram did not get through," an angry edge laced his voice.

She could only shake her head against his chest.

"We-," she tried to speak, "We all thought-," she couldn't say the words.

"I'm sorry, I should have forced my way to a phone. I was just trying to help and then get home. That idiot boy clearly wasn't up to the simple task of sending a telegram."

She nodded emphatically when he said he should have found a way to reach them all. When he saw this, he gave a little laugh and hugged her closely by way of apology. It was at this moment, he would recall later, that he began to notice he had a woman in his arms. Soft was the word that kept whispering in his mind. She was so soft. And warm. So very warm. Wearing her bedclothes, there was almost nothing to hide her softness from him. No corset, no stiff dress. And the smell of her…God! He would have never have even thought that Mrs. Hughes, or anyone, for that matter, had an individual smell. But, now it was hitting him with the force of a gale. It was everything that was comfort and home. Of course he knew her smell, how could he not? And how he needed it! Until that moment, he'd still been too rattled to take full stock of what was happening. He'd never embraced this woman in the decades he'd known her. Never even pecked her cheek on Christmas. And now he was holding on to her as though it were his right. He tried to think of pulling away, but his hands seemed to want to keep spanning her back, trying to gauge how much she would allow him to move those hands that were wanting to soak up as much warmth and softness as they could.

"We were all so worried," she couldn't quite bring herself to say that she, herself, carried the most concern, the heavy dread of words not said.

He knew instinctively no words could take away her worry or express his regret for making her suffer. The thoughts of what he wanted to do to comfort her darted through his mind, alarming him. He wanted to crush her to him, feel her softness all along his length; run his hands over her curves; bury his face in her belly. In a move almost entirely unknown to this man of disciplined service, he justified these thoughts by telling himself the explosive, terrifying events of the day were allowing them to bound, unchecked, across his usually disciplined mind. He settled on the least of these, pressing his cheek to hers. It felt woefully inadequate to him, and for the first time that day that had seemed to last a year, he felt tears prick the back of his eyes.

She could feel the change in him. His body and arms had been an enfolding comfort. But tension quickly grew in his frame and she could sense the slightly frantic change to his movements. Inexperienced as she was with the embrace and feel of another person, she instinctively sensed that he needed her and the thought of pulling away never even crossed her mind. Perhaps if even one of them had been more used to the physical contact of others, what happened after that could have been avoided. But service life was a lonely one. The occasional touch of a hand, a brief embrace was all that could be expected. And so neither could anticipate where this heading or, indeed, stop it.

**There may or may not be a ratings change coming up...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, thank you so much to all of you who reviewed and are following. Every one of them makes my day.**

Even after only a few moments, it was the longest time a part of her skin had touched another's. Unable to think clearly with the emotion of his arrival still processing, she hazily felt as though she could not feel the rest of her body. The only part of her that existed was the part connected to Mr. Carson. She struggled to find a way to respond to his act of pressing a small part of his skin against hers. Rusty hinges creaked in an attempt to react in the right way. How could she know what to do? When she'd never been held this way as an adult? When her only contact with him had been a brief hand-holding at the seaside? Finally, after mere seconds, though it seemed much longer to her, she settled on a decision. Her hand came up to rest on the side of his face that wasn't touching hers. It was a smooth, sure motion, belying the hesitancy that came before it. It was as though she had always known what she would do in the case that Mr. Carson decided he wanted to hold her.

Shock followed quickly by delight suffused him. He couldn't know it, but her hand on him, willfully and purposefully given, ignited a part of him that had been molded in the earliest men. Later, he would wish that he could have said he didn't even think about his next actions. But he would have been lying. His actions rapidly unfolded in his mind before initiating them. It _would_ be true to say that he did not consider any other actions. In that moment, anything other than doing what he did was unfeasible, impossible to even consider. Never having been exposed to a female in this way made him unprepared to try and fight any compulsions he had. It would also be true to say that he certainly had no plan. Each movement was made with only that action intended. The cascade of events that happened after that would haunt him.

His hands went to her head. She looked at him, her face questioning. He couldn't form the words he wanted to say. He pressed his lips against her cheek, feeling and tasting the tears there. Her eyes widened, but his were not open to see it. It was not a kiss. Just a pressing. A soft, barely there pressing. His lips left one cheek only to visit her other cheek. Her head was still in his hands, and then he _was_ kissing her. Only her cheeks, over and over, one side, then another. Small, rapid kisses that were hurried but not frantic. As though he were afraid she would stop him and wanted to press all the affection for her that he could into this small moment. Her eyes, still wide, blinked rapidly. She would think back on this moment as the only time she could recall being unable to form any thought in her head.

And then. Oh, _then_ he made a plan. He _would_ kiss her. On the lips.

Even though he didn't quite know how to manage it, he would do it. His feather light kisses began to travel. Slowly. So slowly she couldn't even be sure anything was changing. But then, finally, his lips caught just the edge of hers. She jerked in surprise. Her hands flew up to hover indecisively in the air. Instinctively, his body knew what to do. One of his hands loosened his grip on her head and the other hand went to her side, above her hip. His message was clear. _Stay. You can leave. I won't hold you here. But stay. I want you to stay._

And she did. Any other option was ridiculous, insane. Not even to be given the smallest amount of weight. Her eyes fluttered closed and, gently, her hands settled on his arms. Again, those hands on Charles Carson galvanized him. Permission, hesitantly it may have been, was given. Credit has to be given to Mr. Carson, for even though he didn't have the benefit of having any experience held by a man of the world, he knew just what to do.

He didn't immediately crash his lips into hers. No. He had her here, but she was liable to be spooked at any moment. This wasn't a conscious thought, just something he _knew_. And so he did what he thought best. He continued his intoxicating, brief kisses. On her lips. He danced attendance on her mouth. First, light kisses on her upper lip, then the corner of her mouth, then the lower. He was light, then firmer, then light again. Every so often, he would give only the slightest impression of suckling gently at her lip. But so quickly it couldn't be confirmed. He started staying longer with each touch. It gave the impression of slowing down, but in reality, the intensity was increasing. Now he was caressing her with his lips. Teasing gently at the flesh there. For a brief moment, the word _seduce _floated through his thoughts. But he pushed it away. Surely she would pull away, give him some sign if she didn't want this. Doubt crept in, lowered the volume of the buzzing in his head, and allowed him to hear something he cursed himself for missing before. She was….was she? Yes…dear God in heaven, she was making noises. Almost inaudible, high-pitched, little moans.

She took complete responsibility for both of their actions. If she hadn't made such an inappropriate and embarrassing display, they wouldn't be in this position right now. Only, just now, she couldn't bring herself to care. Her concentration was given to much more important things such as staying on her feet and assuring her own alertness to fully feel all the sensations crashing into her. She tried to keep track of where his hands were on her body and where his lips were and what they were doing in each moment. She wouldn't have been able to articulate why she felt it was so important to be in this moment, but it had something to do with the feeling of stealing this small bit of time and her sense of internal suspicion that it may never happen again. By God, she would enjoy it. She concentrated on what she could do to encourage him and how she could appropriately respond to him. She damned her inexperience when she didn't know what to do with her hands. She settled on moving them incrementally up his arms and clutching his clothing and the flesh of his arms. She hadn't known she was doing it, but when she noticed the small, erotic noises she was making, she also noticed the effect they were having on him. She decided to continue.

Her moans and whimpers drove him to near madness. She _wanted _this. Wanted him. For how long? Was it always? Had she never thought of him this way before now? His mind flung itself around the hallway and rooms adjacent, frantically looking for a place to-what? Press her? Lay her? Somewhere he could gain access to—he didn't even know what. He had no frame of reference for what he wanted to do. But that didn't stop him from trying to figure it out. He made a bold decision to quickly slice his tongue across her plumped up bottom lip. She made a soft, strangled cry which might have alarmed him if she hadn't simultaneously pressed herself harder against him and drove her fingers into the back of his hair. He could feel the fullness of her breasts against him and it made him brave. Wonder at how these past few minutes progressed filled him with an almost drugged contentment. He surely slid his tongue against hers and she sighed into his mouth.

And now they were learning, teaching one another how to kiss, caress, tease, be held. There could be no doubt now for either of them that this was full-bodied, full-hearted kissing. He clutched her, she pressed him. No one seeing them could call them frantic. They seemed sure, almost calm. But the eroticism of their movements couldn't be denied. Not knowing how to breathe and do everything they wanted to do to one another, they had to stop for a breath after at time. She rested her head against his chest and his cheek was resting on the crown of her head. He would have cause to be grateful for this rest because, at that moment, he watched Lady Mary Crawley walk into the room and light up with a genuine smile.

"Carson!" she cried and rushed to them.

Startled, Mrs. Hughes lifted her head quickly and turned to her employer. The thought in both of their heads at that moment was exactly the same.

_What have I done?_

**Tell me what you're thinking! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you, you wonderful reviewers and followers! I love you all. **

As Lady Mary came toward them with her face lit up, Carson noticed that he was still holding Mrs. Hughes's hand. It would not have been visible to their employer, as they were standing so close to one another that their entwined hands were, in effect, behind them. Mrs. Hughes made a move to extract her hand from his, but he held tight to her, unable to explain why he felt such panic at the thought of her pulling away. It was as though, if he still held her hand, the moment was not over, the repercussions were yet to be felt, and she was not running away from him, as he was frightened she would do.

"Carson!" Mary said again as she embraced him briefly and stood back, one hand still on his arm.

_The proper response, _Mrs. Hughes thought gloomily to herself.

"I can't believe it!" she cried.

"I'm very happy to see you, too, my Lady," Carson responded, smiling genuinely.

"Are you all right? What happened? How did you get here?" she fired off her questions excitedly. Carson took a breath and she shook her head, scolding herself. "I'm sorry, it doesn't matter right now, of course! You must be exhausted! You let Mrs. Hughes pamper you tonight and sleep all day tomorrow. I'm going to tell Papa and Mama." She kissed his cheek impulsively and was off as quickly as she came, trotting quickly up the stairs.

They stood there, silent, unmoving, in shock for what seemed to be a very long time. Regret, humiliation, shame, shock all fought for purchase in their breasts. She firmly slid her hand out of his and took several steps away from him. One hand clutching the folds of her nightrobe, the other on her flaming cheek, refusing to look at his eyes she whispered urgently, "What did she _see_?"

Quick to reassure her but weary beyond all measure, he replied, "Nothing. She saw nothing. I watched her walk in. We were only…." he couldn't finish. He didn't know how. Hugging? Too trite. Embracing? Too sensual. Holding one another? Too intimate.

She nodded quickly, anxious for him not to finish the sentence. They stood quietly again until she asked, "Would you like some tea?"

He looked at her then. Her brow was furrowed, her knuckles were white on her bathrobe, and if he could have seen her legs, he would have seen her knees shake.

"Ah, no. No, thank you. I'll just get a glass of water," he hurried, looking around as though he were just about to do a very important operation involving procuring water.

"Fine, fine," she responded, looking at the ground. "I'll-ah…I'll just take your case up and make sure you have water and cloths if you'd like to wash up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"Don't mention it, Mr. Carson," she took up his case and walked up the stairs.

He stood for a moment, listening to her steps fade away. He retrieved his glass of water and sat at his usual chair. His exhausted mind ran through the past few moments, coloring it with doom-laden accusations. _How could you? How could you take advantage like that? Have you always thought of yourself as an honorable man? Well, not anymore, Carson. You've abused the woman you love and there's no coming back from this. She's mortified, you can see it on her face. She's probably furious with you, too. _

His head lifted abruptly from its hangdog position. Love? Where had that thought come from? After a moment, he knew exactly. It was yesterday, when he had been helping with the injured and dead, when horrors he'd never imagined were imprinting on his mind. All that time he thought of nothing but her, how he could get back to her, how grateful he was to have the opportunity to see her face again. Yes, she was probably full of regret now, but he would make it right. He would make her see what he had seen just one day earlier.

Walking up to his room, steps dragging, the thought popped into his head that she might be waiting for him. But no. The only signs of her presence were some cloths, precisely set next to a bowl of water. He sighed. After washing, he fell into bed and slept the sleep of the dead.

Even after only a few hours of sleep, he still woke at the same time he did every day. Upon arriving downstairs, he was greeted by a chorus of happy cries, quick, proper hugs from the women, handshakes and back slaps from the men. He smiled benevolently at all of this and explained the events of the previous day as briefly and with as little detail as he could while still satisfying their curiosity.

Mrs. Hughes stood by with a tight smile and clenched hands. She planned to avoid him as much as possible today. She needed time to organize her thoughts, she told herself. It wasn't the crushing embarrassment of her actions the night before. It certainly wasn't because she didn't want to face the man who surely thought she was a two-bit trollop. And rightly so, she said to herself. Any woman who couldn't control herself should be ashamed. It was how she was raised. She vowed to never let it happen again. If she could get Mr. Carson to agree to never speak of it again, she felt that she might be able to continue on working at Downton. She just needed a bit of time.

"Mrs. Hughes, might I have a word before you start your day," he inquired as he had done on many occasions.

She narrowed her eyes at him and his expression remained suspiciously neutral. _The rat, _she thought to herself. Of course he would ask in front of everyone. She couldn't say no without arousing some sort of suspicion.

"Of course, Mr. Carson. What is it?" Two could play at this game, she thought. She made it seem as though she would be happy to hear any concern, right there in the servants' hall. Certainly she wasn't budging.

He blinked. "Your pantry, perhaps? I'd like to speak to you privately," he held his hand out, indicating the way in a chivalrous fashion.

Her nostrils flared. "Naturally," she replied, with perhaps a touch too much vinegar.

In her pantry, she attempted to leave the door open, but he quickly set that notion aside with a brisk click of the door jamb. As he stepped toward her, she rounded back again toward the door, giving every appearance of being ready to bolt in a blink. He accepted this, put his hands up in the universal gesture of no harm intended, and said, "Mrs. Hughes, you must allow me to apologize—"

She cut him off, "I assure you that's not necessary, Mr. Carson. I take the blame entirely."

"Now that's not at all-" he hurried, brow furrowed and starting to walk toward her.

"In fact," she interrupted, voice reaching an unnatural pitch, "I suggest we forget the matter entirely. We'll not speak of it again." Her hand reached for the door knob.

He stalled her by stopping in his tracks and allowing his face to show his consternation. "Is that what you want?" he asked, a touch more gravel in his voice than usual.

"Isn't it what you want?" she countered, expression flat.

He paused, his face giving away none of his thoughts. The seconds ticking by were a torture for her. Embarrassment heaped upon embarrassment. Why couldn't she have just said, 'yes'? If she'd just had the time she knew she needed to prepare for this conversation, she wouldn't be in this mess. Again! The infernal man! Fury started to grow in her breast.

"No," he said. "No, that's not at all what I want."

Her breathing grew faster. "Well, what is it that you want?" she snapped.

Undeterred, he stated plainly, "I'd like for us to be together."

The clock on the wall seemed to take longer between the ticks of seconds. Finally, she said, "Have. You. Taken _leave of your senses_?!"

His head moved back as though slapped.

"In what fantasy world do you imagine this working?" she hissed.

He was immediately defensive. "This sort of thing happens all the time!"

"Give me the names of the housekeepers and butlers you know who are living happily ever after!"

He was just as furious as she now. How dare she throw something like this back at him?

But she continued, "And bring shame down on your precious family? I know you, Charles Carson, and the last thing in the world you'd ever do is even inconvenience the Crawleys! And you've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to sneak around the hallways with you!" She was too incensed to be shocked or even embarrassed by the things she was saying.

He'd had enough. "Listen to me, Elsie Hughes. You don't know me at all if you think that's the only thing that matters to me. When I was sorting through the wreckage and the bodies… Yes, the bodies, Elsie! All I thought of was you! You know how many dead there were. How many will never see their families again. You're a fool if you don't know what we've been given!" He paused, breathing hard and running a hand through his hair, mussing it. He looked at her and saw her eyes wide, tears streaming down her face for the second time in twelve hours. There were no sobs this time, though. Just silent weeping. Somehow it made him angrier.

"Right!" he huffed. "Well, this is the most asinine conversation I've ever been a part of." And with those words, he made it clear that he was done talking. He stormed toward her, whether to leave or attack her, she didn't know. She frantically reached for the door handle behind her and would have made it out the door if she hadn't fumbled it.

He crashed into her. His lips were hard against her and his hands dove into her hair, loosening pins and pulling strands. As soon as his lips touched hers, there wasn't a moment in her mind when she doubted that this was exactly what she wanted. She quickly became lost in the feel of him once more. His tongue caressed hers and she moaned softly. He sent his hands down her arms and guided them to his head. She rubbed her thumbs across his cheekbones and he shivered.

She found herself wanting more with each moment and she marveled at the fact that while she had been busy doubting her every action, he seemed to have been concentrating on finding new ways to drive her crazy. His tongue first lapped at then drove into the side of her neck. If she hadn't been holding onto him, she would have been on the floor. Slowly, then, so slowly, his hands began to trace a line from her shoulders down the front of her dress. She whimpered, pressed into him, and just before they reached her breasts, he broke away from her. He looked into her eyes, firmly moved her aside by her shoulders, and walked out the door.

**Tell me all of your thinkings.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry I'm not writing faster, you guys. I've got a hell of a load at school right now. But I'm having so much fun writing this for you and especially hearing all your thoughts. You've no idea how you're making my life better right now! So thank you again. I mean it!**

He let out an angry grunt when he noticed he'd buttoned his nightshirt one button wrong. He muttered under his breath as he furiously undid the buttons. He'd been unable to indulge his anger during the day, being the professional butler that he was! He'd endured the exclamations, the fond, unfamiliar pats and brief clutching of hands with the reserve that was expected of him. If only he'd been able to tap just a bit of that reserve the night before! His actions, choices, mistakes or however he was thinking of them in the moment, had haunted his dreams the night before and his waking hours today. He'd ruined the most important friendship in his life. She would never forgive him. Perhaps…perhaps he'd had a chance this morning until he'd destroyed it with yet another kiss. But he'd been so furious, so full of righteous conviction, he couldn't help himself. By God, he would show her. He huffed, having finished his buttons. Yes, he'd certainly shown her. And now what? How was he to repair this thing that seemed so irreparable?

He sat on the side of his bed with a sigh. He looked at his bare feet as his head hung low. If only he hadn't kissed her. All the rest could have been explained away, forgotten. If only, if only. If only she hadn't responded so thoroughly and innocently to him.

His head snapped up.

_She had responded to him! _Fool that he was, he hadn't realized until just that moment that he held the trump card in his hand. Not once, but twice, she had answered his caresses with passion. Even irate, she couldn't help but show she felt something for him. Not for a moment feeling like a cad, and with a smile on his face, he swore that he would seduce Elsie Hughes. He stood, a spring in his step, and happily went through the list of every touch that had affected her. She'd already given too much away to be able to resist him. The thought that he might scare her away entirely never even entered his mind. His success was a foregone conclusion. She was as much a part of Downton as the towers themselves. He found himself humming when he heard his door open.

His brow furrowed. It didn't sound right. He never locked his door, no one did. Everyone needed access to one another quickly in case the family or guests needed anything. The only door that was locked in the attics was the one between the men's and women's corridors. So it wasn't the fact that his door was opening that was odd. It happened quite frequently, actually. But it was usually a brisk opening following a brisker knock. There was no knock this time and the door opened quietly, deliberately.

And there, as though conjured by his own thoughts, was Elsie Hughes. She stepped quietly into the room and shut the door behind her.

**I want to be inside you. Your head, that is! Tell me everything.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry I'm not writing faster, guys. I've loved loved loved reading your reviews and thoughts. It's getting me through a hellish school quarter. Thank you thank you!**

And there, as though conjured by his own thoughts, was Elsie Hughes. She stepped quietly into the room and shut the door behind her.

His hands froze on his shirt. She stood, hands behind her on the door, palms flat against the slightly rough surface. She didn't realize how long she stood there, saying nothing. She would take a breath as though she meant to begin, then stop. After several of these attempts to begin talking, Carson said,

"Mrs. Hughes?"

Every question possible was there in his voice. _Are you all right? What are you doing here? In my room. At this hour? Are you angry? _

Rapidly her mind tried to sort out the various thoughts and reasoning that brought her here. Along the corridors, her mind had been firm, set. She would apologize. He was absolutely right, of course. How could she possibly be angry with this man? This man who she had been so devastated at the thought of losing. Yes, she would apologize and tell him those precious, quiet things that she had wanted to say to him. He'd done nothing wrong, and she'd never be responsible for another moment of his discomfort.

However, standing in his room, seeing him in his nightclothes….every word she could say seemed…wrong somehow. Every syllable would come out trite or false. So she did the only thing she could think of. Her hands came off the door and she took steps to him. His prodigious eyebrows rose at this and he dropped his head as he always did in order to be able to look at her.

"Ah, just," she cleared her throat, embarrassed at the way her voice wobbled. "Just…just stand there. For a moment."

Her hands reached to his face, palms settling against the faint scratch of his whiskers coming in. The feel of them made her smile, just faintly. It enchanted him, that smile. She seemed to be everything womanly. Lovely, soft, warm, mysterious. Whatever was going on in her mind at the moment was everything he was aching to know. Her thoughts seemed wild, even to herself. Desire pushed her forward while doubt screamed and clawed at the back of her mind.

But she allowed his earlier words to give her confidence. Confidence to stretch high on her toes so she could reach his mouth. And with a feather light touch, she slid her lips across his. Gently, slowly, she moved her mouth along his. Not kissing, as he had. No, she was not quite strong enough for that just yet. Just a sliding, soft slanting. Already he tasted familiar to her. The smell of him filled her head. Every slight movement of her head and lips was a benefaction. _I'm sorry, _they said. _Forgive me. _

Difficult would not be the word Charles Carson would use to describe how it was to follow her command of standing still. Impossible, more like. He longed to crush her to him, have her arms wrapped around him. As consolation, he closed his eyes, and took one of her hands in his, turning it so that he could press his lips into her palm. She gazed at him, tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

"Charles."

It was a deep throated, tear-choked plea. Neither she nor he could have said what she was pleading for. To hold her? Make love to her? Forgive her? He didn't know, but, by God, he would give her everything. Even if he had to kill or burn to do it. Then he took her in his arms as he'd been wanting to do for what seemed eternities now. With swift strokes under her arms, he placed her hands where he wanted them, his kisses blinding her while his hands guided hers firmly over his face, down this sides of his neck, and to his chest. There his hands left hers so that they might chart lands unknown. She clutched the sides of his nightshirt and cursed her decision to wear her evening dress. It had seemed sensible earlier to come to his room fully dressed. But she would have killed to be wearing something softer, more easily removable.

Their kisses were alternately slow, then frantic, then slow again. His hands were frustrated in their attempt to feel her skin. And his heaven…those delightful, maddening little whimpers and moans…were back. Carefully, still slightly unsure, he began to undo the buttons that were just to the side of midline on her familiar black dress. She closed her eyes, and gently placed her hands on his wrists, sighing as she gave her implicit consent. Her own fingers crept quietly up his arms to release the remaining buttons on his night shirt. In her boldest move yet, she thrust her hands in his shirt to firmly stroke his chest.

He let out a small, strangled cry and looked up to the ceiling as she pressed herself against his bare chest, her arms reaching around to rub up and down his back. Never had she felt freer, more loved than she did at that moment. He deliberately set her at arms' length away from him and she looked up at him with lust-drugged, confused eyes. She understood his intent as he bent to her and placed his lips at her now bare collarbone.

The touch of his lips and tongue on this part of her skin that rarely felt air, let alone the touch of another person, set off a blaze inside her. She had no choice but to throw an arm around his neck. She would have fallen to the ground otherwise. She was careful to keep her other arm clutching one of his to allow him the full access to the small part of her skin that was exposed to him. He dropped his head and brushed his lips against the creamy swell of the very top part of her breast, the only part available to him at the moment. She cried out as her vision blurred and darkened. She would laugh later at being so aroused she almost fainted. He quickly covered her lips with his own, anxious that they not be heard.

He was supporting her full weight now and, with his body, conveyed to her that he would steer her to his bed. She gathered her wits enough to say,

"Mr. Carson, please lock the door."

And he did.

**Next stop: Ratings Change! Unless you think it's better to leave it there? Maybe I'll just leave it there. Oooor, you could review and tell me what you think?**


	8. Chapter 8

**I apologize for taking so long with my updates. Please forgive me and keep reading and reviewing. I love all your comments so much! Also, note the ratings change! I was just teasing you guys! There was always gonna be the M-ness.**

"Mr. Carson, please lock the door."

And he did.

As the key clicked the lock, his hand started trembling. He turned around to see the woman he loved, standing, hands clasped in front of her, an unreadable expression on her face. There were so many thoughts fighting for supremacy in his mind, he was paralyzed by indecision. How could he decide where to begin? He wanted to push her to the bed, tear her clothes off, kiss every inch of her. But he knew he couldn't. This was as new to her as it was to him. He wanted to be gentle, he wanted her to show him what she wanted. But how? Should he start undressing? Should he undress her? Would she allow it? Would she think him twisted for wanting to?

Unmoving, he took in her flushed cheeks, mussed hair (his doing, the thought proudly for a moment), and white fingers. It was the small scrap of fabric exposing her skin that was his undoing. He focused on it, knowing he'd been the one to unwrap that part of her. It was this small piece of her that revealed her rapid breathing. Her face didn't show it, but she was as nervous as he. He realized then that they were in this together.

As they'd always been.

He went to her then, gently unfolded her bloodless fingers from one another, and led her to his bed. He sat down just at the edge, placed his hands at her hips, and pressed his head to her middle. At that exact moment, he was unaware that he'd just joined the very large group of men to be, at one time or another, frustrated by a corset. The stiff fabric kept him from feeling the softness that had dragged at his thoughts every waking moment. His fingers clutched at the side of her dress. He knew, of course he did, what was supposed to happen. Though not a "man about town," he was no child. But, in that moment, everything seemed insurmountable. He had no idea what to do with a corset. Were there hooks, ties, what? He was an experienced valet, but he had never (well, almost never) entertained thoughts of how he would remove that garment. Pressed up against that stiff fabric that encased her body, its hardness seemed a barrier to everything.

They shouldn't even be here; would be fired on the spot if caught by their employers. There was no way to make any kind of relationship work. Service was a life with no privacy. Any noise above a whisper would be heard. What would they do? Marry? A married butler was a sacked butler. He wanted her desperately, but couldn't bear being the cause of any distress for her. And every time he closed his eyes, he relived the horrific accident of only a few days ago. For the first time since the tragedy, despair washed over him fully. Tears fell from his eyes to the floor, the top of his head pressed into her, and his arms wrapped around the back of her.

She'd been in a daze since he had locked the door. Indecision and fear kept trying to send icy tentacles into her consciousness. Aroused beyond all measure, she'd not only allowed him to lead her, but acutely needed it. She certainly knew what she wanted, but was counting on him to guide her; to silence the insidious doubts that she was unworthy—would be found wanting in some way. But, when she again sensed a change in him, her lifetime of service held her in good stead. A good servant is keenly aware of everything around her, particularly the mood of others. And these two were not good servants, they were the best. They would never know it, but this ability to not only sense, but anticipate needs was about to make them exceptional lovers.

Deftly, she lifted his face and wiped his tears. Without stepping away from the shelter of his thighs, she briskly doffed her dress, then her corset, making swift work of the ties and hooks. Perceiving the anguish in him, her own doubts and fears vanished. Her mind clicked over into its familiar mode of devising plans. Clad now in only her chemise, she wrapped her arms firmly around his head and pressed him to her breast. The feel of him against her soft flesh, the flimsiest of cloth the only barrier between them, brought a wave of emotion for which she was entirely unprepared. Knowing she needed to keep herself together for his sake, her head fell back and her gaze pierced the ceiling as her teeth crashed into her lip to keep the sobs in. She had no defense against the tears that stained her cheeks once again.

Gratitude flooded through him as she took the lead. A glorious moment passed as he savored the most erotic sensation he'd ever experienced: his cheek pressed against her breast. Her softness there was more amplified than any other part of her body and he closed his eyes with a sigh. He placed his hand on her breast, testing its weight, first gently, then with a deeper pressure. Her head was thrown back and he sensed her breath stop. Brazenly, he swiped his thumb across her nipple. Her entire body jerked and her head whipped forward. She remembered to breathe with a harsh gasp. Armed with the deceptively small piece of knowledge that she wanted him, this strong reaction spurred him on rather than deterred him.

For the first time in days, he felt delight at the possibilities before him. As he caressed her breast, he tried to decide whether to reach under her chemise to feel what parts of her skin that he could or to suckle at her breast. He decided on the latter and latched onto her with an intensity that matched every part of his personality. Everything he did, he did wholeheartedly.

One of her hands slammed into his shoulder with a clawed grip, its intent to keep her on her feet. The heel of her other hand flew to her forehead as she desperately tried to keep quiet. Crying silently, her face betraying the difficulty she was having at keeping mute, she rhythmically and involuntarily pushed her body into him, mimicking the rhythm of lovemaking and driving him insane.

He pulled away and she gave a low, keening cry. He could see the outline of her nipple through the now soaked part of her chemise, and with one smooth motion, he reached down and lifted the chemise over her head.

He could only enjoy the sight of her naked before him for a moment, as her arms loosely crossed over her chest and the doubt reflected in her eyes registered with him. He rushed to her, firmly removed her arms from their defensive position and bent over her to bathe her other breast in attention. He purposely bent her over just enough that she would have to hang onto him to stay on her feet. His plan entailed making her so occupied with his every touch that she wouldn't have a moment to second-guess, doubt, or otherwise question her presence here. Guilt nagged at the back of his thoughts for a moment, but only just. His demons and angels were overwhelmingly in favor of his current plan.

When the backs of her legs hit his bed, she sank down gratefully. She had started a full-bodied trembling that made any purposeful movement difficult; standing was a feat she could barely manage.

He was sure he'd died and gone to heaven when she swung her legs into his bed and reached out to him. No amount of planning or fantasy could have prepared him for the sight of a naked Elsie Hughes in his own bed, arms wide and beckoning to him. He wasted not a single moment before undressing and climbing in after her.

They both gasped as they felt, for the first time in their lives, the full length of another's skin lying next to their own. Her trembling increased as he grasped her face in his hands and kissed her as he had the first time. Feather light at first, teasing her lips, then suckling, insinuating his tongue into her eager mouth.

His hardness pressing against her thigh made her head, seemingly of its own will, move back and forth on the pillow. He was so very torn between allowing her whispers and sighs to increase in volume and covering her mouth with kisses to keep them from being heard. Never in his life had he cursed his lack of privacy more vehemently than at that moment. And then she did something that altered his gentle, careful plans.

Slowly, she slid her leg up his and then…oh then…she wrapped her leg around his. Her naked leg pulling at his did something to him. It was an act of opening, of welcome, of receiving. It had the additional and intoxicating effect of positioning him slightly over her. He took this invitation to heart and fully towered over her. Her legs instinctively opened to him and she unconsciously thrust her hips up to his.

He moaned as she whimpered when he settled at her warm, moist entrance. Fascinated by his broad, strong shoulders, she kneaded his upper arms as he rested his forehead against hers, trying to restrain himself from taking her right then. Her hips twitched uncontrollably, wanting him inside of her. Her legs pulled at him and it took an effort greater than he'd ever needed to muster before to remain still. He realized then that they'd hardly spoken since they'd fought earlier. It wasn't to be borne. He needed to hear her, speak to her.

"Elsie," he ground out, agonized.

Looking into his eyes and seeing exactly what he needed, she lifted a hand to his face, rubbed her thumb across his bottom lip, and smiled at him. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes to mingle with her hair and settle on his pillow.

"Charles," she whispered, lifting her head to his to give him a silken kiss.

"Yes, my God, yes," he rumbled, pressing kisses to her palm. "Again," he begged, "Tell me…say it again."

"Charles, my darling, my love," she breathed, barely a sound.

"I-" he kissed her eyelids.

"I need-" he kissed her nose.

"I need you," she wept.

"Yes, yes, thank God. My love," he groaned, kissing her again and again.

And he slid fully inside of her. The sound she made when he could not get any closer to this precious woman was better than any of his wildest imaginings. He felt that he should give her a moment to get used to his presence before moving inside of her, but again, she changed his plans. Her hips thrust erratically into his and he couldn't have held still for all the gold in the world.

And here they found their calling. Every movement, every gasp, every sigh was immediately filed away for future use and responded to immediately. When he returned his mouth to her breasts, she had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. He felt himself getting close to his release and slowed, running his hands along her still trembling thighs. She knew that he noticed and, in an attempt to alleviate her embarrassment at being so affected, she said with a lopsided smile,

"Something's wrong with my legs, apparently."

He pulled out of her and she cried out, softly. He bent his head to the inside of her thighs and trailed a line of kisses there.

"Mrs. Hughes," he intoned with mock seriousness.

"I can assure you," _kiss _

"that there is absolutely," _kiss _

"nothing," _kiss _

"wrong with your legs."

Her hands flew to her face as she laughed helplessly. He joined her in laughter as he positioned her over him.

Her eyes widened in surprise at this new vantage point. The inside of her thighs hugged the outside of his and she quickly got used to the sensation of pressing herself against his hardness.

His head was thrown back into his pillow as he guided her hips to take him in. There were more gasps and moans as she seated herself on him. She began a gentle rocking almost immediately and it was only a few moments before she knew she was climbing toward her release. His hands went from her hips to her breasts and it threw her over the edge. He brought her head down to his to bury her cries with his mouth.

He didn't give her a moment of rest before he flipped her over again and thrust into her. The combination of the aftershocks that still gripped her and the feel of him, now pounding into her, caused another climax and he held her tightly as she shuddered. He held himself in check until she finished trembling, then emptied himself inside of her. It felt as though he'd finally come home. Nothing in this world would ever be as sweet as giving himself to this woman whose soul touched his. She clutched him with her legs as he whispered her name into her mouth.

Tender, gentle, sleepy kisses followed as they fought the pull of sleep.

"Stay," he sighed. "Stay with me…for a while. Please." They both knew she could not stay the night and that a little more time was the most either could ask for right now.

"Yes, my darling," she whispered to him with a kiss to his brow, resting on her breast. "Yes, I'll stay. For a little while. Now sleep, my love."

And he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Just a little update. I know I've said it before, but thank you so much to all of you who have read and reviewed. Keep doing it, please!**

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Morning found him alone. There was no indentation in his pillow to assure him she'd been there. He had only his memories of the previous night. And he could not dwell long on those because he found that he had slept ten minutes longer than he usually did. Hurriedly, he dressed for the day, cutting out non-essentials in order to be down on time.

Contrary to his will, his steps dragged once he hit the stairwell. She would be down already. Probably waiting for him at the table with the rest of them. Would she regret everything that they had done? She had certainly shown doubt before today. Suddenly, he dreaded the verdict her expression would pass down. He would be able to tell in a single glance where her thoughts lay. With one look, she had to power to destroy him.

After stepping into the servants' hall, his eyes quickly searched for her. Her back was to him. He held his breath. Took a step into the room. At his footfall, he could see her back straighten and she turned to look at him. If he _had_ been breathing, her look would have taken his breath away. Everyone and everything in the room fell away. Her eyes were clear and shining. Her chin tilted up slightly as her head tipped to one side. She looked at nothing but him. The corner of one side of her mouth was turned up just a shade. Enough to let him know everything that was in her mind, but not enough that anyone else would suspect a thing.

His breath came back in a rush and he gave the bottom of his livery a straightening tug. With a smile that was a hair too smug, he went to the table. Her relief as they sat down to the breakfast table was almost a physical thing inside her chest. Every minute that ticked by as he'd been late had increased her torment. She was sure he'd be full of nothing but remorse. There was no room in his starched, polished life for a mess such as the one they'd created together. But then she'd seen his face. So worried. Searching for her approval. She let him know immediately that he had it. The look on her face would tell him. She knew it.

The cheerful mood of the day before still pervaded the breakfast table. Both wanted to reach for hands and thighs under the table, but the most they dared was the pressing of their feet together. It would have to be enough for now. When the bells started calling them to duty, Mr. Carson simply looked at his housekeeper and asked,

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"Of course," she answered, knowing what he was asking without needing the words.

They stepped into his pantry. In what seemed to be one motion, he shut the door, leaned on it heavily, jammed his heel against the bottom, and held out his arms to her. She ran into them. He held her so tightly and lifted her so high that if she hadn't stretched up to the very tips of her toes, she would have been in midair. Her head fell back as he began kissing her neck, something he knew she loved. Fairly vibrating with the pleasure of knowing what drove the noises out of her, he pushed and slid his tongue along the sensitive ridge on the side of her neck.

"Charles," she whispered, eyes shining with unshed tears. She kissed his mouth, trying to distract him from her neck so that she might not do something foolish. It wasn't the best plan, as his mouth on hers made her wild as well. She made valiant efforts not to crease his shirtfront or muss his hair. After only a few seconds, since both of them knew their time now was brief, she rested her head against his chest and sighed mournfully.

"Oh, Charles. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he replied sadly, serious now. His hands moved along her back as he continued. "If I'm going to have any hope of getting this thing off with any speed, I'm going to need practice," he said gravely. "Perhaps you could do me a drawing? Maybe highlight the areas with hooks or ties?" He was craning his neck to try and see over her back and making fumbling movements with his hands at the bottom of her corset.

She looked at him as though he'd lost his mind until she realized that he was actually making a joke. Right now. When she was trying to discuss their situation seriously. She gave him a shove at his shoulder while she tried not to snort with laughter. His chest rumbled with laughter as he smiled, delighted.

"Mr. Carson!" she scolded, not being able to help her own smile. Until now, she'd been able to count the times Mr. Carson and she had joked together on her two hands. And she was utterly charmed.

"I know, I'm sorry," he answered, clearly not. "I've a few thoughts, but we haven't time to discuss it now," he kissed her lightly. "You give it some thought today, as I will, and we'll talk about it later tonight. In your pantry." He kissed her again, then again, hardly able to stop.

"Yes, all right," she replied, slightly breathless, unaware of how relieved she was as his levity. She struggled for a moment, thinking of how to repay him for his earlier joke. Decision made in a flash, she took one of her legs out from between his and placed it so that she was, in effect, straddling his thigh. She leaned in to kiss him again and firmly pressed her pelvis against his upper leg. He moaned into her mouth and she could feel his body respond as she slid, slowly, just the barest of movements, up and down his hard thigh.

He made a grab for her as she stepped away suddenly and chirped, "Off to work!"

"You minx!" His head was leaning back on the door and he gave every impression of having just run a mile. She smiled seductively as this high compliment and went about her day.

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**All right, tell me what you think they should do! And tell me how much you love me and how you've never been as happy as when you're reading my little Chelsie story...you know. Normal stuff.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Here's a little update for all you wonderful followers, favoriters, and reviewers! I just adore it when you write to me and tell me what you think, especially when you beg for more! I can hardly believe it that anyone would ask for more of my writing, so it makes my day and makes me giggle giddily! And it ****_does _****make me write faster! Thank you so much!**

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Later that evening, in her pantry, his tea was cooling next to her as she sipped distractedly at hers. She didn't know what he'd been thinking throughout the day, but she was feeling quite hopeless at the moment. It was all impossible. They couldn't keep sneaking to one another's rooms. It was an extraordinary stroke of luck that they hadn't already been caught. She had thought often of the many rooms, unused, with large beds (she would always blush at that) to which they had access. But she just couldn't—wouldn't let herself think of abusing their power so. To her mind, it was tantamount to stealing. The keys at her side were a symbol of responsibility and trust placed in her by her employers, earned after a lifetime of service. Not to mention that she had no idea where his thoughts lay. They'd hardly spoken. What did he want of her? Sneaking about this great house? Marriage? She'd no idea.

He walked in then, smiling, relieved to be done at last with his day so that he might spend a quiet moment alone with her. He'd intended to give her a quick kiss on his arrival, but her face and her teacup hovering in the air made his face fall and he sat in his usual chair, ignoring his own tea, poured expertly by this woman who knew him so well. So she'd changed her mind _again, _had she? He gave himself a mental shake. It was no matter, he'd change her mind back if he had to, use every tactic at his disposal to get her round to his way of thinking. To him, it seemed that every avenue was open to them. He'd find out what she wanted, and make it happen. It was simple.

"How was your day, Mrs. Hughes?" he inquired conversationally.

"Mr. Carson," she paused, setting her teacup in its saucer with enough of a rattle that she gave away her nerves. "I don't think…what I mean is…I don't think that I can keep—"

"Do you know when I first knew that I was in love with you?" he asked, acting as though he hadn't even heard her. His hands were linked in front of him. His eyes looked at the ceiling and he gave every impression of a man discussing the weather.

Eyes wide, she didn't answer.

He continued. "Mrs. Patmore was having difficulty with her vision. I woke early one morning and found you in the kitchen, awake before everyone. You were rearranging things. I remember thinking that Mrs. Patmore would be furious with you for interfering with her kitchen. Then I realized that you were putting things in the order that she was most familiar with. So that she could find things more easily. You suspected before any of us, and were trying to be helpful in the only way you felt you could."

He looked over at her then and found her listening intently, eyes glistening.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now. Very sorry, in fact," he leaned forward. "But it's only been the past few days that I've realized my world no longer turns on the style of a dinner."

"No?" she whispered.

"No," he said. "It turns in your hands."

She got up from her chair, walked over to him, and knelt in front of him.

"I love you, too," she offered simply.

He reached for her face and she placed her hands firmly over his, guiding his lips to hers. Between kisses, he spoke.

"I promise you," _kiss _"we will make this work." _Kiss _"Whatever you want to do," _kiss _"I will see to it that it happens." _Kiss _"If I need to become a chimney sweep, I will do it." _Kiss _"As long as you're with me."

She laughed quietly at the thought of him as a chimney sweep. She stood then and he positioned her by her hips, glancing up at her before making the decision to do something he'd longed to do ever since he stepped into the room. He guided her to sit on his thigh. Surprised, she sat gingerly, the thought of sitting in his lap never having occurred to her before now. Her face flushed at how girlish it made her feel.

"Aren't I a little old to be sitting in your lap?" she asked, a tad breathless.

"I'm going to pretend you did not say that," he responded, again guiding her arms around his neck. He huffed in mock frustration. "One day," he scolded, "you will put your arms around me without me having to put them there."

She smiled an apology and realized that he was right. He had been doing most of the heavy lifting. She caught her upper lip in her teeth as she tried to gather her courage to be as bold as he was. She wanted to show him that she _was _sorry and that she was as thoroughly invested in them as he was. She kissed him for all she was worth. She moved her lips and tongue in just the ways that had driven responses from him earlier. He grasped her waist in surprise and grunted when she twisted on his lap to straddle him. She was intoxicated by looking down at him and peppering his face with kisses. She could feel him growing hard and it made her bolder still, even though she was so aroused she had to concentrate to keep her thoughts in her head. Tentatively, she took one of his hands and led it from her waist to her bottom. He jerked, hips thrusting intuitively into hers. Quickly, his other hand joined its partner to caress and fondle that part of her that he'd often been embarrassed to have found himself staring at. She moved on top of him, able to feel him through her undergarments. Heavens, she tried to stay quiet, but her state of arousal and the effect her noises had on him were making her reckless.

He couldn't bring himself to try to stop the noises she was making. Instead, he brought his hand around to her front and began to explore what she would allow in their current position. Gently, he sought the part of her that had always been so forbidden in his mind. A dark, mysterious place that held all the answers he could seek. He was delighted to find that her undergarments contained a slit through which he could insert his fingers. As he alternated pressure and types of touch, his mind was at its keenest, committing to memory every response she made. He found a spot that seemed to drive her wild and he concentrated his efforts there until she cried out with a full body spasm, a sheen of sweat on her skin. Clenching his lapels with white knuckles, her head collapsed onto his chest as he rearranged her on his lap.

At the touch of his hand on her, she fought the urge to push him away out of fear that he wouldn't be satisfied with anything he found there. But he seemed to sense this and pressed more firmly, navigating her warm folds with inexperience that rapidly turned to expertise. She'd never felt anything so intimate in the whole of her life and she quickly climbed toward release. There was one moment when he'd been pressing that most sensitive part of her and she'd been so close that she almost wept and he slid one finger inside of her with ease. It was that moment that she finally let go of any embarrassment or shame she had with him. She knew he loved her, she trusted him with every part of her, including her heart. She let go and allowed the most powerful climax of her life take over her entire body.

After taking several steadying breaths, she kissed him on his lips and gave him her happiest smile. He smiled back and said, "Now we can have our little chat, shall we?"

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**Go ahead, tell me you hate my forays into smut. I knew it! It's rubbish! **

**(Subtle, right?)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry it took so long for an update, guys! Stick with me, all you lovely followers and reviewers who make my day! **

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After taking several steadying breaths, she kissed him on his lips and gave him her happiest smile. He smiled back and said, "Now we can have our little chat, shall we?"

"Hmmm?" she murmured, sleepy now.

"Mrs. Hughes!" He gave her a small jolt on his lap. "I insist on knowing your intentions!"

With half-closed eyes heavy with exhaustion, she laughed silently to his chest.

"Well," she replied, "What do you think?"

"Oh, no. I've promised you I'll do whatever you like. In this instance, as in many others, I don't know what's in your mind. You must tell me." Persuasion was attempted by nuzzling her neck. He was still entranced by the fact that she allowed him to touch her so. Her arm draped heavily across his shoulders provided a comfort that he'd never allowed himself to believe was possible.

"Well," she began again, more spirited now. "I can tell you what I _don't _want."

He nodded for her to continue.

"I don't want to leave my position. I don't want _you _to leave _your _position. I know you love it. I don't want to do any sneaking of any kind. I don't want to be made to feel that we're doing anything wrong. I don't want to feel as though I've no more right to worry about you than anyone else. I don't want to have to part with you in the evenings. I don't want to watch you walk your way while I go mine." Innocently, her voice and its cadence slipped into seduction. "I want to spend the night with you. I want to lie next to you in a bed made for more than one person." Her hand was mostly still, resting against his chest, but her thumb moved lazily back and forth on him. "I want to wake you up in the middle of the night and see what it would take to convince you to make love to me."

Drowsy as she was, she hadn't noticed the slow tension forming in his muscles. He stood abruptly, bringing her with him.

"What are you trying to do to me?" he sputtered, unable to completely hide his smile. "Unless you want me to lay you down on this floor, you had better—" He huffed as she looked down, brow faintly knitted, clearly working out the logistics of making love on the floor.

"Ah, my Mrs. Hughes," he sighed. He gathered her to him, thinking it best to avoid the chair for now. "Yours are tall orders. I only wish I knew what his—"

She cut him off. "Perhaps if you asked him—"

He grabbed her upper arms, roughly enough that she knew he wasn't aware of it. "I need no man's permission to marry you!"

She gazed at him. Her man. She could call him that now. He belonged to her just as she belonged to him. This man who was so used to simultaneously taking orders and giving them. Of course he would not take orders now, in this matter. Would not want to. She was charmed by him once again. It took a moment for her to realize he'd mentioned marriage.

"Was that a proposal?" she asked.

She was wearing that small smile with which he was so familiar. That smile which always made it seem to him that she knew-and would always know-far more than he could ever hope to. He was fumbling once more.

"Well, I meant to—I mean, that is—I planned on doing this properly. I didn't intend to—"

She stopped his mouth with a kiss.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I will marry you."

He smiled with relief and held her, for the moment not worrying about any task in front of them. For the first time in his life, he thought of nothing but the woman in his arms and his gratitude for this benefaction. It was true they had hurdles lying in wait for them, but, at that moment, he was sure he could fly.

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**It means the world to me when you tell me what you think! Unless it's something horrible, like confirming my every fear of being a terrible person who will never contribute any happiness to the world. **

**So don't write that! **

**You're probably all going to write that now. Ah, well. I'll still be excited to see a review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you all again so much for sticking with me and keeping on reading this. Every fav, every follow, every review is wonderful and makes me so happy! I hope you are having just a tiny bit as much fun as I am. And a special thank you to all you guests and others to whom I can't respond directly. **

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They had decided that the best time to speak to Lord Grantham was after breakfast. Mrs. Hughes was fussing with Mr. Carson's shirtfront and tie. She'd wanted to come with him to offer what support she could. He insisted she stay behind. Though he adored his family, he was well aware that any member of that family could be insulting at times. At their worst, dehumanizing. Usually, he took it all in stride as part of service. But he wouldn't subject her to any cruelty if he could help it, however little meaning it had to their employer. No, he would take it all. Whatever Lord Grantham decided to say in the moment of his disappointment would only be heard by Charles Carson.

She'd been talking while his thoughts were elsewhere. She was rambling adorably, trying to give him little bits of advice.

"And remember—you're not asking _permission _for anything, so don't let yourself sound so gruff like you can. And—"

He cut her off. His hands pressed her fidgeting ones still against his chest and he kissed her lightly. She was being kind. When they'd discussed their plans, she could see his pride was threatened by having to ask another man permission for this part of his life. Mr. Carson had always been so used to taking orders and having every aspect of his life dictated by others. Again, it was a part of service he'd not questioned before now. And so he was unprepared for the dent his pride was currently taking.

"It will be all right," he reassured her. "I will be nothing but polished civility." He smiled.

She gave a disbelieving huff, but smiled despite herself.

"Good luck," she said, worrying her lip, wanting to say so much more, all the little terms of endearment clinging to the end of her tongue. But the cold light of day streaming in through his office window seemed to wash away any courage she had. Still unsaid were all the tender, sensitive things that had caused her such despair when she thought he had died. She thought she stopped her tears before he could see them, but he knew her too well. The almost imperceptible sheen in her eyes was noticed, though the reason for them was misunderstood.

"It _will _be all right," he took her hands in his. "No matter what happens, we will be together. I can promise you that. With no man's permission."

She nodded, looking at the floor. "Off you go then," she whispered, her voice half-choked with emotion.

He wanted to hold her, comfort her with his hands, show her with his body that all would be well. But they were so new. She didn't really belong to him yet, he thought. And they were both so grim in this moment; so sad that their future would be determined by another. And so he simply gripped her hands more tightly, bent down so that she could see his smiling face, and went to their fate.

Lord Grantham was standing in the library, talking to his wife. Mr. Carson quickly and subconsciously took note of their moods. They both looked as though they were in reasonably pleasant temper. He hadn't anticipated Lady Grantham, but thought perhaps it might help his cause.

Carson waited to be acknowledged and his Lordship turned to his butler.

"Hello, Carson!" he said jovially. "What is it you'd like to speak to me about?" Lord Grantham remained standing, Lady Grantham seated as his side. Both looked at him expectantly.

"My Lord. My Lady," he paused briefly, taking a steadying breath. "I would like to inform you that Mrs. Hughes and I will be marrying."

Lord Grantham turned immediately to his wife with an exasperated sigh and lifted his arms out to his sides, only to let them fall heavily back again. Lady Grantham looked to her husband with an expression that could only be described as triumphant. Lord Grantham turned quickly back to Mr. Carson.

"Well, Carson. I hope it pleases you to know that you've just won a rather large bet for Lady Grantham," he walked over to Mr. Carson with his hand extended. "And of course we offer you our fondest congratulations," he smiled as he shook his butler's hand. Shock wouldn't be too strong a word for Mr. Carson's feelings. He had prepared himself so thoroughly for the worst that he was completely unprepared for the best. Mr. Carson's body shook in the way that one's does when he is unprepared. _They'd expected this? Had made a __**bet **__about it? _Carson's professionalism was the only thing stopping him from asking Lord Grantham about the terms of the bet. He realized that he'd tuned out his employers completely and tried to catch up with the conversation they were having.

"And now I owe Mary all those books!" Lord Grantham was saying.

"And you know Mama will want to have a say in at least the flowers," Lady Grantham seemed to be talking to herself.

Lord Grantham seemed to notice Mr. Carson's bewildered expression.

"Well," he hurried to say, "we can all discuss details later. I'm sure Carson would like to be getting on." He shook Carson's hand again. "Congratulations, again, Carson."

He had hardly said a word. He had to say something. None of this seemed real. Who were these people? He would never know it, but the people who lived upstairs were quite devastated at the thought that their beloved Butler had been involved in a fatal accident. He could have announced just about anything at that point and it would be met with handshakes and congratulations. But Lady Grantham had suspected something and had discussed it with her husband, who couldn't quite believe that his staid servants would ever be in such a situation.

"I wish to extend my thanks, my Lord, my Lady," he said slowly. "You…are not concerned with any…scandal of any kind?" He hated to say it, but he had to bring some reality back into this conversation or he was afraid he would think he had dreamed it.

"Carson," Lady Grantham said, almost chiding him. "This house is no stranger to scandal. And if it gives people something to wag their tongues about, at least it will be something pleasant for a change."

"Yes, indeed!" Lord Grantham agreed. A thought seemed to occur to him. "You are planning on staying on, aren't you? You're not planning on leaving?"

"No, my Lord," Carson replied, feeling as though he were just starting to be on firmer ground. "We would both be very grateful if you would allow us to retain our positions." He could say it now without a hit to his pride.

"Of course!" Lord Grantham said. "Now you go ahead. I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will be waiting for you."

After another thank you, Carson left the room in a haze. He would never remember the walk back downstairs, though he did recall wishing that they'd talked about where they would meet. He had to search for her and he was growing more frantic by the moment. He _had _to speak to her. It wouldn't be real if he didn't see her soon. He found her in her pantry, standing by her desk, hands clasped in front of her in a stance that was so familiar to him, he almost wept.

"Mr. Carson?" she asked, alarm in her voice as she saw but did not understand his wild countenance. _Bad news, then. _Her fingers were sore from gripping them too tightly. She winced as she took apart her hands to reach for him. Once again, he rushed to her, taking one hand and kissing her palm quickly before wrapping her around him. He buried his face into her neck and gulped in air, trying not to embarrass himself with weeping. She was terrified. Tears threatened to choke her. What had they done to him? What horrible things had they said?

"Charles." She was hoarse with dread. "Please." She could only manage the one word, praying he would understand and hear her desperation.

"Elsie," he cradled her face in his hands. She could see the tears under his eyes. "It's all right. I'm sorry for frightening you. Everything is fine. Perfect." Her legs were starting to give out and she had his arms in a crushing grip. Her relief was not from the fear of losing their positions. Her relief came from knowing that he would be spared the crushing pain of having his family disappoint him and the pain of having to leave them. She didn't know how she would have made up for that loss if they'd needed to leave Downton. It had been at the core of her fears. He continued, for the first time in days not noticing her condition.

"I wish you had been there. They couldn't have been kinder or more understanding. They—"

She stopped him. "Charles. Charles! I need to sit down!"

"What? Oh, my dear! I'm so sorry!" he guided her carefully to her chair and knelt in front of her. One of her hands rested on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, lovingly caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. His hands rested possessively on her thighs.

"Are you all right?" he inquired anxiously.

"Yes, dear. Yes, I'm fine. I just needed to sit for a moment. I'm just—I'm so happy for you. For us both." She paused a moment. "There are…so many things I want to tell you. I do love you. So very much." She kissed his cheeks, softly, slowly, just as he had first kissed her.

"Well," he grinned, his tears still beneath his tired eyes. "Now we have all the time in the world."

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**So, tell me...*puts chin in hand* whatcha thinkin'?**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! And a special thanks to my very first and most wonderful beta, deeedeee. **

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The air was crisp but not unpleasantly cold as they walked, her arm tucked into his, down the path to the small cottage. Waves lapped at the shore nearby and she could see clearly why he chose this spot for their three-day honeymoon. She looked up at him with a smile and said, "This is lovely."

He smiled back, then looked forward once again with a distracted air that had become familiar to her in the past few weeks. She worried the inside of her lip once again. Their brisk pace was entirely his doing. Unsure of the reason for the hurry, she allowed herself to be pulled along. Their pace had been brisk since leaving the church. They hadn't had a minute alone the entire day. She'd hoped to have a private moment after the ceremony, but they were hustled into a car to the station, and the train had been elbow to elbow. His climate of distraction had started shortly after they'd made the announcement of their upcoming marriage. She smiled as she remembered telling the staff.

_She stood by his side, making it clear that this was not one of Mr. Carson's usual proclamations. He cleared his throat before they sat down to luncheon._

"_Right. Everyone, quiet please. We've an announcement." He paused only briefly._

"_Mrs. Hughes and I are going to be married."_

_There was complete and utter silence._

_And then Daisy chimed in, brow knitted in confusion, "To who?"_

_Pandemonium then. There was laughter at Daisy's ridiculous question and congratulations as the staff surged forward to the couple. Mrs. Patmore could be seen explaining the situation to a red-faced Daisy._

It had only been three weeks since then, but it had seemed much longer to both of them. They realized their mistake shortly after telling their staff. Suddenly, they were the object of youthful fascination. If they had thought interruptions were frequent before, now they were non-stop. Their doors were often flung open with the flimsiest of pretenses on the lips of the opener. It was quickly agreed that they could no longer risk being caught in any compromising positions. Certainly, there could be no more traipsing through the hallways in the dead of night. A good night kiss was all they would risk. One kiss at the end of the day probably shouldn't have occupied her thoughts as much as it had, but there it was.

_He_ had taken to their new situation disappointingly well, she thought. He didn't try any quick hand holding under the table, or a brush of his arm against her bottom. She consoled herself with making their new room ready. Soon, there would be privacy aplenty.

But it was true that he seemed distracted. She tried not to lose confidence in the fact that he loved her and wanted to marry her. Most of the time, she was successful. Chalking it up to the extra work of planning both a wedding and time off for the pair of them, she was able to dismiss most of her fears. Their regular good night kiss was the most reassuring gesture he could give her at the moment. Her face flushed when she thought of the one night she had made to turn in without the kiss that was now their custom. He'd taken her forearm and roughly spun her to his chest. That night's kiss left them both breathless and praying for a more rapid passage of time.

Nagging at the back of her thoughts was the concern that he was upset with her in some way. Her inexcusable lack of pronouncements of love was the main contender in her mind. She'd never actually said all of the things she had wanted to, all those weeks ago when she had, nearly hopelessly, prayed for just that chance. _He_ had certainly done so, telling her how much he loved her, when he'd first _known_ he'd loved her, how much value he placed on what they'd been given. Those were the speeches she revisited in her mind when her confidence wavered. The time was just never right. They were never alone. Always there was the chance of being interrupted. She sighed and thought she would find out soon enough. She prayed that when they walked into their private cottage, (which must have cost him a packet!) he wouldn't just settle into a chair and start reading a book while she made tea.

Sparing her a glance and a smile, he turned the key in the lock and they entered the little cottage. It was utterly private and quite charming, she thought. He took both their cases and set them on the floor. He took off his coat with a rapidity that seemed off to her. Even more strange, he set his coat over a chair and laid his hat on the table, which was odd to her since there was a perfectly good coat rack just across the roo—

He crashed into her, shoving his hands underneath her arms and pushing her back against the wall. For a moment, she had thought he might pick her up and shake her like a rag doll. She had almost no time to marvel at the fact that his hands were so large they almost wrapped completely around to the top of her shoulder. If he hadn't been supporting her so, she would have fallen as his momentum forced her backwards against the wall As it was, her hat and hatpin were on the floor, dropped when he took hold of her, so that she could clutch his arms for balance. She didn't think her feet had ever flown so quickly. Certainly not backwards.

And then his mouth and hands were everywhere. Instantly and thoroughly aroused, she was grateful for the support of the wall. She wondered when, if ever, she might be able to keep her legs under her when kissing her husband. Going directly to the spot on her neck that drove her wild, he kissed, nipped, and pushed his tongue against her, causing her to moan and her head to fall back. Then to her mouth, giving her no time to adjust or accept his deep kisses as he usually did. Now he thrust his tongue inside of her mouth while his hands reached for her breasts, again thwarted by her rigid undergarments. He pulled his mouth away from her. She whimpered, thrusting herself away from the wall toward him. He pushed her back and attacked the tie of her dress. It was a new dress and so he was unfamiliar with its trappings. After only a moment, he shook his head and stepped away.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said quickly. "You'll have to do that. I'll just rip it." And he started undressing rapidly.

She barely managed a hazy nod as she tried to force her hands to follow her orders. Relief and desire made her hands tremble and her fingers clumsy. He was already down to shorts and she hadn't gotten past one tie. He looked up at her and furrowed his brow, confused at her still clothed state. She would have thought it adorable if she could have formed thoughts at that moment. He noticed her quivering hands ineffectually pulling at the tied bit of cloth.

Her voice so shaky it could hardly be recognizable, she spoke with a laugh in her voice that was tinged with hysteria.

"I can't quite seem to manage it either."

He was to her in a flash. First he pressed her hands to his chest, caressing them as he kissed her again. Then he lifted them, those precious, fumbling hands that had handled fragile knick-knacks and fragile people alike. He offered up a thank you to whoever might listen that he was the one who could render those hands helpless with desire. He held them to his mouth, pressing his lips into her palms, each in turn. Then he kissed her fingers, one by one, every part of them was worshipped. And, finally, when he drew the tip of one finger into his mouth, sucking gently, she let out a sound that he would later dream of. She clapped a hand to her mouth, biting down on the flesh of her palm, trying to keep quiet. Her attempts at silence only caused her chest to heave with quiet sobs. He quickly removed her hand, reminding her with a glance that no one would hear them.

He placed her hands on his shoulders and set about the task of undressing her. It was simple but gratifying work. When he got to her corset, she made a move to deal with it, but he pushed her hands away. With one hand, he untied her laces. Then, in a move that stunned her, he positioned his hands in some magic way that allowed him to undo half the hooks at a time in a smooth, push-pull motion. In two moves, it was undone and he was peeling it off of her. Her eyes were wide with surprise and she said, "Where on _earth _did you learn—"

He cut her off when he drew her breast into his mouth and firmly caressed the inside of her thigh. And she was shocked once again at how he seemed to have been studying her in his mind, planning and memorizing what would drive her mad. Setting a steady course up her leg, his fingers were like fire on her thigh. He was trying to go slowly, but he eyed the bed and tried to figure out the fastest way to get her there. When his fingers made contact with her soft folds, she cried out again. He continued his attention at her breasts, kneading one as he plied his tongue against her. Her head rolled back and forth against the wall, and her tears of relief rolled down her cheeks.

Tearfully, she moaned, "Charles."

He stood up, took her face in his hands, and smiled.

Her head still resting against the wall, she gazed up at him. She didn't bother checking her tears as she said, "I thought you were angry with me."

This pulled him up short and he allowed his genuine confusion to show as he asked, "What? Why would you think that?"

"You've been so distant lately," she swallowed. "I thought you were upset with me."

He threw his head back to look at the ceiling and gave a short, frustrated laugh at his own ignorance. Of course she would think that! He had, in fact, been very upset lately. But not with his new wife. No, it was all those incompetent, interfering, jackasses with nothing better to do than disrupt his life who were keeping him from her! It had taken so much of his concentration to keep his hands off her; he realized he must have seemed more distracted than usual.

"Oh, Elsie," he sighed, dropping his head to her neck once again, kissing her collarbone in between his apologies. "My love. I am so very sorry. No, I am not upset with you. It was simply the effort of not attacking you that held much of my attention. I should have told you. I am apparently not as good at suffering in silence as I thought I was."

A weary but genuine laugh escaped her. He led her to the bed with his hands on her hips and his lips entertaining hers on their short journey. He reached behind her to pull down the top quilt causing her breasts to press against him. They both gasped and urgency fully asserted itself once again. Lying on the bed, one hand clutched her pillow and the other gripped the bedsheets. She felt crazy with lust and was afraid she wouldn't be able to restrain herself. Her hands anchored to something solid gave her a sense of control. It wasn't to last long however. He had no intention of waiting a moment longer. Advancing toward her, he used his knee to move her thighs apart. She whimpered and quickly obliged his unspoken request by opening her legs to him. In one move, he thrust inside of her.

Already so close to the edge, it didn't even occur to her in that moment to be ashamed of the near scream she let out when he first pushed inside of her. Even if she had, it would probably have been drowned out by his shout. He didn't pause for even a moment, thrusting himself inside of her again and again. Full body tremors were already taking her over and he knew she was close. He bent down, pulled more forcefully with his parched mouth than he ever had at one nipple, and brushed his thumb across the other. Instantly, she bucked almost completely off the bed. She sobbed, "Oh my God," as her head was flung back and her release flowed through her in convulsive waves that seemed to last forever.

He slowed for a moment, kissing her gently. As he picked up speed, she bucked her hips against him. Eyes flung wide open, she shook her head against this new sensation. It was almost too much. She was too sensitized and his movement against and inside of her was causing her to make noises that he never could have dreamed were possible. She sobbed, gasped, and cried out all at once. Over and over, she moaned to the rhythm of his thrusts. He thought he might go insane. Her flushed face, swollen lips and full breasts had been the stuff of his fantasies for so long. Frantically, she couldn't decide whether to pull her hips away or push them closer to him. Unconsciously, she did both, which ended up as an erratic bucking of her hips which pushed him over the edge. He groaned her name as he came. She tried to keep from shouting and ended up digging her fingernails into his back as he triggered her second climax.

Both breathing heavily, with a sheen of perspiration on their bodies, he made to move away from her, afraid that he was too heavy. With her arms and legs, she held him to her, shaking her head and letting out a small moan. Wrapping her in his arms, he rolled so that she rested with her head neatly tucked under his chin. A tired laugh escaped her lips. Feeling that he most likely wouldn't appreciate laughter at this moment, she pressed her lips together, trying to hold it in. But relief and physical exhaustion had made her giddy. A quick look to her face made him understand completely and he joined in her laughter. Not able to keep still while so close to his body, her hands wandered over his chest, his back.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"My God," he flopped back against his pillow. "Me too. We're never waiting that long again!"

A smile on her face, she said, "I fully agree."

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**So, umm….how you doin'?**


	14. Chapter 14

**The final chapter! Thank you all so much for making this huge fun for me! Especially everyone who reviewed! A super special thank you to deeedeee who taught me everything I know!**

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She was asleep. Her back was to him. The white expanse of it captivated him. He'd felt it only a few short hours ago. Its softness called to him. He wanted to run his fingertips from her neck to her shoulderblades. But he didn't want to wake her. Should he? This was the first night they'd spent together and he had no idea how she would respond to being woken in the middle of the night. He smiled, thinking of all the possibilities. Perhaps she'd wake with a start and give him a relieved smile when she saw him. Or maybe she'd be so alarmed she'd give him a playful slap on the shoulder. Better still, she might turn to him, still half asleep. Pleased and hopeful, he placed his hand on her shoulder and lightly traced a line down her side and to her hip, pressing his fingertips gently into the soft flesh there. The newness of being able to touch her as he liked was intoxicating. Humming, eyes closed, she turned to him. Almost awake, she buried her fingers in the silver soft hair on his chest and slid a leg between one of his.

"Hello, Mrs. Carson," he whispered as well as a man with his voice could whisper.

"Charles," she sighed back.

They kissed for a long, leisurely while and settled back into one another. He asked her, "Should we get up for a spell and have some tea?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "That sounds lovely. My throat is so sore! I hope I'm not catching a c-" she stopped abruptly, putting her hands over her face in mortification.

"_Oh my God," _she whispered.

His eyebrows were almost to his hairline as he gave her a comically confused look. "Well!" he made a show of sounding concerned. "I wasn't aware you could catch any sort of illness from screaming your husband's name," he teased. She smacked him hard on the shoulder and he laughed. He nuzzled her neck until she forgot her embarrassment and irritation.

"Charles," she whispered, trying to get his attention. "Charles!" she nudged his chin away from her neck. He tilted his head up to her, looking for all the world like a man gazing into heaven.

"My dear," she said, "I must talk to you. There are so many things...so many things I need to say to you." He responded by turning on his side and showing her with his expression that she had his full attention. She had thought she would be nervous, would be afraid that telling him how much she loved him could not equal everything he'd given her. But here, in the dark, lying under the same sheet, the moon shining through the window, she was brave.

"When you were-" she paused, needing a moment to clear the lump from her throat. "When we-when I thought you were dead-" His brow furrowed at that, but she continued.

"It's true. I was certain you were gone. Forever. I _knew_ I would never see you again. I was insane with grief." She looked away from him then. She couldn't look at him and speak of it without weeping. Blinking away the tears, she said "I-could barely function. I felt as though I were completely alone, walking against the current of a river. I kept thinking of all the things I should have said to you," she paused. "How much I looked forward to seeing you every morning. How every season you were gone, my world was dimmer. How, even though we fought and didn't see eye to eye on some things, I thought of you as the best of friends. How much I valued your opinion and admired your devotion. And how much," she looked at him then. "How very much I love you. And need you."

His eyes were bright with tears when he crushed her to his chest. As she had done once to his declarations, he simply said, "I love you, too."

Brushing away a tear, she smiled and gave a little laugh. Playful now, she said, "And I promise to love you until I die. And I promise to make love you to every night until you are exhausted and can hardly move!"

He laughed heartily, throwing his head back. "I'm going to hold you to that!" he said.

"You do that," she replied.

"I'm certain they never placed a bet on _that_," he said smugly as he closed his eyes and settled back into the bed.

She hummed softly as she snuggled her head on his chest. Then she shot bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"_What bet?!"_

**The End**

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**Well, that's all! Tell me everything on your lovely minds!**


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